


Broken Beyond Repair

by ThePandoricaWillOpen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awakening, F/M, Kinloch Hold, M/M, Multi, Post-Dragon Age: Origins, Pre-Dragon Age II, Rating May Change, Slight Triggers, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePandoricaWillOpen/pseuds/ThePandoricaWillOpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is captured after his last escape attempt and brought back to the Circle Tower. However, after the Hero freed the tower of abominations during Origins, there have been changes. Nathaniel and Nikolai aren't lost - nope, not lost at all. They definitely don't run into an ogre and got rescued by Templars and end up in the Tower. Anders totally doesn't feel anything for the rogue. Nathaniel isn't completely captivated by the mage.</p><p>Anders/Nathaniel in a Dragon Age: Awakening AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FFNET, I've reworked this story after playing Dragon Age Inquisition and seeing the consequences of Anders' actions. Will update monthly.

Anders was well aware of the dangers of being caught. As the reigning champion of escapes at the Kinloch Circle, he had faced all possible punishments – short of Tranquility- a Mage could face. So what could go wrong with another escape, he had thought. Maybe this time it will be permanent. Maybe, perhaps, this time the Templars will give up and leave him alone, deeming him unimportant and giving up their assignment of bringing him back to the prison like institution. Maybe if he headed towards Tevinter. Maker, that would be worse wouldn't it?

He wasn't expecting them to be ruthless in their pursuit. Three months he spent running away from them just barely being able to stay one step ahead. His magic gave him away every time; his phylactory or perhaps even his magic itself propelled them to him like a horse to water. _Three months, a record_ , he scoffed to himself.

In the end it was he who gave up – not his Templar jailers. They found him in Denerim in an alley throwing up the watered down ale he had convinced his “date” to buy him. The same “date” that had promptly disappeared the moment steel footsteps began to get close. Anders would have run if it weren’t for the rather unpleasant feeling in his stomach and the bitter taste in his throat. His energy drained – his magic cut off – before he managed to sit up straight without vomiting the contents of his near empty stomach.

Three Templars stood before him as he straightened up, trying in vain to keep the bile from rising once more. He gave them his most glorious smile just before comically – damned maker and his sense of humour – throwing up on their ridiculously shinny metal boots.

“Blasted Mage,” one murmured as he leaned and grabbed Anders by the hair, pulling his face back with a harsh tug, vomit around his mouth. “Three months we've been chasin’ you, Mage. And you've just made the journey back worst.”

Anders didn't have time to reply. A metal arm was pulled back and all he saw was darkness and the wondrous feel of the Fade around him.

* * *

_There was nowhere to go. He was trapped, cornered in a shed not far from a shallow lake. He'd tried to swim it but failed. Water wasn't his thing, never was. The only thing it was useful for was to bathe in. But he couldn't do that now, not with the Templars on his doorstep._

_They'd sent mabari hounds before they came. He felt the hounds follow his scent, a skill Karl had taught him. They sensed the smell his magic, following it to him. He could disguise himself, but not the trace of his magic._

_Now he was trapped by his own stupidity. He'd run into the poorly built shed instead of fleeing in the opposite direction. He was trapped beyond escape. His heart beat rapidly in his chest at the thought of being caught again. This was his eight-escape attempt and this time, he knew, the First Enchanter wouldn't be able to sway the Knight_ Commander _to go easy on him. He'd run out of strikes yet the old man always went out of his way to help him but he wouldn't, Anders realized, not this time._

_There was a bang on the door. The Templars yelled, "We know you are in there!" He cowered into the corner and thought maybe he could disappear. He casted a small shielding spell and hoped for the best, perhaps they'd give up or think he'd gone out the back. The pounding continued at his door mabari hounds barked as the Templars hit the hilt of their swords against the molding wood. The wood splintered and cracked after multiple blows and Anders frantically looked for another way out. The window was low enough to fit through, he saw._

_He stood, the shield following, to inspect the window. No Templars on the other side, they were only concerned with the front door. Quickly pulling the stopper out he pushed the door, careful not to let it make a sound. The Templars continued to shout, too distracted to notice him running away from the shabby shed. When he heard the splinter of wood and shouts he knew they'd gotten in and discovered he was gone. But even then he knew his chances of getting away were low so he threw a fireball at the shed for good measure. They would get out safely; they'd probably felt him use his magic. And if they didn't... well, a few less Templars in the world couldn't hurt. He frowned at the thought, split between the thought of one less Templar in the world and being a murderer._

_He was miles, or he hoped he was, away from the Templars before he finally stopped running. Out of breathe and exhausted, he lay down on the grass and gazed at the oncoming sunlight. It was beautiful. Green, orange, blue and reds mixed in perfect harmony in the sky. The combination circled around the bright orb that was rising from the east. He'd never seen something this beautiful first hand. In the Tower the only sunset's he got to see where pictures in books that were centuries old. He smiled as he realized that he was now free to enjoy many more sunrises like this. The sun, shinning as bright as his future, peeked as Anders stood._

_Once on his feet, he headed northeast to Amaranthine. He had to get away from this, from the Templars and from his old life. He was out of the tower, away from the confines that held him there, away from barriers and lakes and hypocrites. He was free, for now at least. And he wasn't going to let anything stand in his way..._

* * *

“… And then I roguishly disappear never to be found again,” Anders finished with a flourish of hand gestures, wincing as the chains pulled his arms back down. He got a feel of their strength and internally sighed. He wasn’t about to break these chains, magic or no magic. “Does that not sound wondrous, Michaels?”

“Yeah, sure thing, Mage,” the Templar told him with a snicker, pushing Anders with a big metal hand. Anders hissed and maintained pace with the Templars ahead. “Except for the part where you were caught and dragged back to the Circle.”

“Ah, well, yes. That part does put a wrinkle in my tale, does it not?” He smiled, a twinkle in his eyes. “How ever shall we remedy that?”

“Shut up,” one of the masked Templars ahead said. “Shut him up, Michaels or there won't be a Tale to spin.”

“He sure is a grumpy one, is he not? I like broody,” Anders said with a wink. “It’s the new sexy.”

Michaels gave him a look - a look that he had seen in the circle many times. Cullen also had that look sometimes. The “please shut up before they shut you up” look. Anders bowed at the waist and remained quiet the rest of the way, his restraints and the sound of their metal armor being the only sounds along the path.

They had been walking for sometime before Anders’ stomach began to growl. He didn’t say anything, keeping his hunger in check until they decided to make camp for the night. Having to cart a mage around made the Templars sluggish, their sleep cycle interrupted by either the copious amounts of Lyrium they were ingesting or the long night shifts where they watched over his sleeping form. Anders, on the other hand, slept like a baby most nights. His only fear: not waking up. Every night, he fell asleep surrounded by Templars who were, quite obviously, annoyed to have to bring him back for the eight time. What if... Anders shook his head.

They continued up the path until they reached a small town. The townspeople stared; of course they stared, as he was pulled along. Anders smiled at them, waving and winking to a few as they made a beeline for the chantry. People made room for them as they entered the chantry, a Templar being the only one to remain still. Grumpy asked who was in charge in that superior voice of his and, without even a look his way, the Templar pointed behind him.

Anders looked around the small ill-lit church. It had its appeal, he supposed. Towering statues of Andraste were at each side, her peaceful face looking down at her posed hands. The rows of pews, all nicely polished, lead to the altar. Candles surrounded an ornate statue or Andraste, arms cast wide with her robes almost encasing the area. She looks so caring, he thinks, as they get closer, like a mother caring for her children.

A woman stepped up – a Revered Mother going by her robes – and welcomed the Templars, her eyes glossing over Anders like he didn’t even exist. They were, gently, told that there was no room for them here. Grumpy argued but they were turned away regardless of how much he stomped and yelled. The Mother walked them to the door with a prayer and then promptly shut the door in Grumpy’s face.

“So about lodgings,” Anders started. “I shall like my own tent unless one of you strong Templars would like to –“

“Shut. Up.” Grumpy snarled. “We can still try the Inn.”

“With what coin?” Michaels asked. “We used up all we had.”

“Well, then we better go scouting,” Grumpy conceded. “I’ll get the food. Find us a good spot, Michaels.”

* * *

A few hours later, Michaels spoke to him. They whispered, making sure the other two didn't hear them. Templar Michaels was one of the good ones, Anders knew, and yet he kept a palpable distance between them. His suspicious nature never let him get too close to Mage or Templar or anyone really. There wasn't a moment that Anders felt a need to be close to anyone beyond a few carnal moments of passion. Michaels wasn't the type to take advantage, his innocent side told him as they spoke. He doesn't seem like the type to keep those who were born differently caged either and yet here we are, the suspicious side replied.

“Why paint yourself so… human?”

“Huh?”

“In your tale, why reveal your thoughts? Your fears?”

“You know, it's a little known fact, really, but I am actually human, Michaels.”

“It makes you relatable,” the Templar replied with a nod of understanding. “I see.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “And what is it that you see?”

“Under all that bravado, you actually care about others.” Michaels smiled at him. “You care about how you are seen. Not as a run away Mage but as a … Not a hero, per se, but an image of what can be.”

“I think,” Anders said with a snicker, “that you are reading far too much into a fantasy that shall never come to pass.”

Anders turned to the side, ignoring Michaels until the Templar turned silent. His words echoed within him. Does he care? Why does he care? No one else cared? Anders would be a rubbish icon, right? A real proper savior wasn't so … Handsome and selfish. A proper hero saved the world, saved people, not himself. A real hero did things for others, not for himself. No, he decided, I'm no bloody hero.

* * *

When they arrived at the Circle of Magi and were waiting for the ferryman to get permission for them to cross Lake Calenhad, Anders decided he had had enough. He looked around him, the small mound where they stood surrounded by nothing but woods. It was perfect. Michaels must have been watching him or maybe his instincts kicked in because they next thing Anders knew a gauntlet hand grabbed him by the elbow and pushed him to his knees.

“Right here? Michaels you saucy minx!” Anders said with barely contained laughter. “What will the others say?”

“That's it!” Grumpy was suddenly at his side, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the Mage in his knees. “I can’t get rid of you fast enough!”

The Templars dragged him into the small ferry that carried them to the centre of the lake where the tower stood in all its oppressive glory. It loomed over Anders like a shadow that he would never be able to shake. Grumpy turned to him and said, “Welcome home, Mage.”

* * *

It was a few weeks before Anders saw anyone but the inside of First Enchanter Irving’s office. There had been meetings and sit-downs and more meetings and even duller sit-downs with everyone and anyone that Greagoir could get his grubby Templar hands on. They discussed – as if Anders wasn’t present in the room with them – the situation and what punishment he would be dealt with. They did not let him speak, they did not even let him defend himself for a moment. All Anders do was watch as they contemplated what to do with him.

The Senior Enchanters looked tired, Irving looked older than his years and even Greagoir had lost his fighting spirit. The words the Knight Commander spoke, though said with the same tone as ever, had no emotion behind them. It was as if they had lost a battle that Anders had missed.

And perhaps they had fought enough because in the end they sent him to his quarters on the second floor with instructions to mind his studies until they could agree on a fitting punishment. Anders, confused but thankful, did just that, heading down to the second floor in silence and deep in thought. He couldn’t believe the change from the Circle he had grown up in and this new – and much improved – Circle.

Apprentices and Templars, alike, were spread about the halls deep in conversations like friends. Though some Templars, like Grumpy, still lined the walls, grimed faced and surly. Most conversed with mages, joked, passed notes and teased them. It was like he had entered another world, a world where the lines had blurred and everyone was treated the same.

By the maker, he thought, this is different.

He saw a few new faces, young and hopeful boys and girls who knew nothing of the terrors that a lot of the older mages – Anders included – had faced in the old Circle. Anders also noticed a few missing people, something he would have to ask Michaels about later.

Michaels had told Anders what caused such a change and – honestly – he didn’t believe a word of it. Grey Warden or not, no man could take down a horde of darkspawn, abominations, werewolves, and an arch demon by himself and survive. He had also told him of what Cullen, that shy young Templar who turned beet red at even a wink from Anders, had suffered. The mage had turned grim as he heard the details and wished the Templars a safe recovery wherever they had shipped him off to. That did prompt Michaels to tell the story of the circle’s turnaround.

* * *

_Uldred had returned from Ostegar a mess. He had constant nightmares, screaming at the top of his lungs in the middle of the night, waking Templars and Mages alike. He withdrew from his usual band of friends and colleges. Seeing King Cailan's army be defeated by the dark spawn had really taken a toll on the man._

_Nearly a month after returning, Uldred seemed to have recovered. He was his usual chatty, arrogant self. The nightmares ceased and everything returned to normal._

_Until, he began to talk about his time in Ostegar. He praised Loghain for his retreat, even if it had caused Ferelden to loose its precious King. He said that there was nothing anyone could do to stop the mighty darks pawn - at least nothing any simple mortal could do. It was then that he began to speak of blood magic._

_First, he spoke to his closest friends, and colleges. Then, to anyone who would listen to his rants. As a senior enchanter he had the authority and the respect of many, especially the younger mages who saw him as a mentor and a hero. He began to plan his next move and soon called for a meeting._

_What happened at the meeting varies depending on who one speaks to, Michaels told Anders, but the gist of it is something like this:_

_Uldred called a meeting claiming to have found the answer to the darks pawn problem. He said it was clear if they - the senior most enchanters - would just open their maker-forsaken eyes. Blood magic, he said, the answer is blood magic. He then raised a hand; slicing his palm and using said magic. First enchanter Irving was appalled, as were some of the others. A few followed in Uldred's shoes, however, and this began the darkest days that the Circle had ever seen._

_Until the Hero of Ferelden has ridden in on a white stallion and saved the day!_  

 

"Really? A white stallion?" Anders asked sceptically. "Your sure it wasn't a griffin or a unicorn?"

"It's my tale," Michaels retorted, "I'll tell it like I want."

"Fine. Yes, all right." Anders leaned forward on the table, his attention captivated by the poorly detailed yet captivating tale that Michaels was painting. With a hand gesture, Anders said, “Continue with your tale, then.”

Michaels cleared his throat and said, “As I was saying…”

 

_The Hero of Ferelden had come to the Circle for help. He had gone to Redcliff to help the Arl who was gravelly ill only to find the entire town had been taken over by a demon. The demon had possessed the arl’s son and in order to save the arl, his son and the whole town, the Hero went in search of the Circle Tower._

_But instead had found hell. Mages were being killed left and right, either by Templars too afraid to stop and think or by abominations and blood mages. Their fellow enchanters and many apprentices had turned, Uldred having corrupted their minds._

_Uldred himself had been corrupted. He had become an abomination and kept himself locked away at the Harrowing chamber with those Senior Enchanters who had resisted, including First Enchanter Irving._

_The hero ordered Knight Commander Greagoir to stand down as he and his companions rescued the mages still trapped inside. Greagoir was none too pleased but let him through anyway. What happened after that is not clear._

_But at the end, Uldred was dead, the circle was saved and the Hero Of Ferelden had saved them all from the abominations and evil blood mages and all was good again._

 

“Fascinating tale,” Anders told Michaels with a smile. “So you were here, then? When this all happened?”

“I – well, no. I was chasin’ you through Denerim at the time.” Michaels rubbed the back of his neck with a metal hand. “But – but it's all true!”

“I'm sure it is. With a few embellishments here and there,” Anders said as he stood from his chair, stretching his limbs with a sigh. “I'm sure glad I wasn't here for that.”

“You wouldn't have turned,” Michaels said with a nod. “You ain't one of those bad mages.”

“Well, gee. Thanks, sir Templar.” Anders rolled his eyes, bidding the man a good night and retreating to the library.

* * *

He, as a habit, walked near the walls, fingers lightly tracing the stones as he walked. As a young man growing up in the tower, he found peaceful being able to touch the stone walls and pretending he was touching the outside world instead. Was the sky this rough, he used to think, does grass smell like old books? Now, as he touched the stone walls he felt something different, he felt jealousy. For unlike him, the walls had continuous contact with the outside world.

He walked for what felt like hours. His mind preoccupied with endless questions and runaway plans. Before he even knew it, he was standing in front of the chantry, the dim candlelight’s reflecting his shadow on the walls he had been tracing with the pads of his fingers. He looked up at Andraste – the Maker’s bride – in all her glory and felt hope. For the first time in a long time, escape plans held no appeal to him. The change in the circle felt refreshing, even if he was still waiting for the other shoe to fall, so to speak.

What if this is all a dream, he thought, what if I’m still in Denerim and -

“Anders?” A voice from behind asked, startling Anders out of his thoughts.

Anders turned around. “Karl?”

“I had heard rumors of your return,” Karl said as he approached. “By the maker its good to see you!”

Anders smiled, pulling Karl into a hug. “I missed you too.”

“How far did you make it this time?” the older man asked as they separated.

Anders smiled, signaling with his hands for them to walk. The halls were near empty, only a few mages and Templars still remained awake. Anders turned to Karl as they walked and said, “Not far, my friend, not far at all.”

Karl snickered before turning serious. “You missed all the fun, you know. You were lucky to have left when you did. What we saw – what we suffered through – is not something I would wish upon even my enemies.”

“So I’ve heard.” Anders stopped and looked at the man, his mentor and once lover. Karl hadn’t been a young man when they met but now he looked older than his thirty-four years of age. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced, his hairline was all but gone and his hands held a tremor that hadn’t been there before. He had a slight limp, something Anders wanted to ask about but refrained to do so. He didn’t want to bring back painful memories but he needed to know. “What did they do to you, Karl?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, really. I hid with the younger apprentices and we ran for it when the abominations appeared.” Karl looked down at his shaking hands. “They got a few shots at me, got me in the leg. One of them, a young girl, she – she didn’t make. Maker, she cried out for help but we couldn’t stop. We had to run, Anders, we couldn’t save her.”

Anders tried to reach Karl to provide some comfort but the man pulled away, blinking away the tears that had been pooling in his dark eyes. They each took a moment, Karl to compose himself and Anders watching as the tremors subsided.

They continued to walk, conversation forgotten, down the candle light halls. Before he knew it, Karl had led Anders to his chambers. He extended an invitation, not expecting anything to come by it, to come in, perhaps to continue talking. But Karl excused himself, bowing at the waist and taking his leave. Anders said his goodbye, entering his chamber and closing the door behind him.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai Cousland and Nathaniel Howe are on a mission to the Circle Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers for mentions of blood and gore.

The path continued through the forest in a loop. The tall trees towered around the men as they walked, their armour reflecting the sunlight that passed through the branches high above. The path was carved between the towering trees for miles. They had been walking for hours, their location and targeted destination being darkspawn caves. They had found none so far, something that Commander Nikolai Cousland would not accept as they continued on their way.

Hours later, exhausted, Nikolai scratched his head and sighed. They were most certainly not – repeat _not –_ lost. Just because they had walked by the same – no, not the same, _identical_ – trees a few times now did not mean they were lost. Nikolai Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, did _not_ get lost. The darkspawn had to be somewhere – somewhere among these trees and sunlight and green grass and nugs.

“We are lost,” Nathaniel Howe declared behind him.

The man stopped walking, motioning for soldiers behind them to stop. Their entourage stopped and spread about to scout the area. They didn’t go far before they plopped their things down and began to unpack. Nathaniel sighed, wishing they had gathered more soldiers than farmers along the way.

Nikolai had insisted the soldiers remain in Amaranthine securing the Keep and its surrounding areas while they scouted along the Pilgrim’s Path, securing it for travel.

From Pilgrim’s Path they heard rumours of darkspawn near Highever. Nikolai and Nathaniel became alarmed about scavenging darkspawn seen that far north. After avoiding the Cousland castle and effectively killing a group of ‘spawn, they headed west to West Hill and through the River Dane. They had, after weeks of traveling, finally decided to scout the rest of Ferelden and get rid of Darkspawn.

“A big task,” Nathaniel had protested when Nikolai told the rest of them, “we have more pressing matters back in Amaranthine.”

“So was killing the archdemon,” the commander had replied with a wide smile, “and I still killed that sonuvabitch.”

Which is how they ended up walking through the River Dane and towards the Circle of Magi. Nikolai wanted to check up on the mages he had saved during the Blight, sure that they hadn’t been annulled by the Templars that cared for them. He was also sure that the best way to go was south through a series of mountains and then back north to the Tower. Why they hadn’t just gone straight from the West Hill to the Tower was a mystery to Nathaniel.

Half way through and after running into and following a small group of darkspawn, Nikolai changed directions and this is how they ended up where they were.

“Prepare to set camp,” Nathaniel told those who remained lingering, faces unsure about what to do. He turned to Nikolai and said, “If we continue west –“

“This is unnecessary. We are not lost. This is just… the scenic route,” Nikolai argued, walking away from the group.

“If we continue west,” Nathaniel continued, ignoring Nikolai, “we should hit Lake Calenhad… eventually.”

“That would be nice,” the warrior snapped, turning towards the sunlight with a frown. “Alistair is going to run me through with a sword, isn’t he?”

Nathaniel smiled, walking to stand behind Nikolai and placing a calloused hand on the man’s arm. Nikolai turned to him, searching for reassurance that no, the King of Ferelden was not going to kill him for spending weeks on chasing dark spawn through the woods and getting himself lost. Instead of that reassurance, however, Nathaniel said, “Yeah. He is.”

Nikolai shrugged the archer’s hand off.  He chuckled and walked back to men setting up camp. “Eh. It can’t be helped, then. If he must, he must but first he has to find me!”

* * *

A few days later, they finally reached Lake Calenhad and had the Circle Tower within sights. Nathaniel couldn’t wait to finally get to the blasted tower and get this over with so he could return to Amaranthine and check on the repairs and conditions to the keep. He should have stayed behind, taken care of the repairs to the place he had considered home for such a long time. But the memories, the horrors his father had created, lingered within the walls and brick mortar of Amaranthine. He couldn’t remain another day there without finally breaking down and doing something he would later regret.

Nikolai walked beside him, careful to appear in charge and yet letting Nathaniel lead them. He had learnt his lesson, a warrior who had no experience hunting in, navigating and otherwise traipsing the forests and mountains of Ferelden should not lead an expedition of exploration.

“Do you hear that, Commander?” Nathaniel whispered suddenly, holding his hand up and stopping the party behind them.

Nikolai stopped, listened and shook his head. “What do your rogue ears hear?” Nikolai asked with a chuckle. “Is it more dark spawn? I don’t feel th-“

Had the Commander, the brave Hero of Ferelden and Arch Demon Slayer, stopped and listened he would have seen the pair of bears slowly but surely approaching their posse. Nathaniel pulled his bow and shot an arrow in one quick motion, halting Nikolai in his tracks both physically and mentally. His instincts kicked in immediately, raising his large sword from its sheath and attacking.

The rest of the soldiers followed suit, quickly they maimed the poor beasts enough to kill one and draw the other away. Nathaniel ordered for them to halt, seeing no point in harming the animals, and set the scouts to take care of the killed bear. They would have food tonight, and bear skin to make another tent.

* * *

Once more they made camp for the night, taking care of any one wounded during the fight with the noble beasts. No one was seriously injured, just a scrap here and there. Nikolai looked distracted, his eyes turning back to the clearing they had scouted and towards the path Nathaniel told him would lead them forward. His blue eyes, usually wide with wonder, were squinted, suspicious coloured them with a dark glow. Nathaniel watched, mindful to keep his spying discreet. But Nikolai was nothing but alert.

“You can stop now, Nate,” the warrior called over his shoulder. “I’m just… I have this sinking feeling that we’re missing something.”

Nathaniel stood, his task of setting up his tent forgotten for the moment. He approached Nikolai and asked, “What do you mean?”

Nikolai sighed. “Have you ever had this feeling like… what you are doing is wrong? That your course of action was not the correct one?”

“Well, yes. Always,” Nathaniel said with a nod of his head. He moved to stand in front of Nikolai, something he found helped keep the Commanders attention on topic. Nikolai looked at Nathaniel, eyes wide with an emotion Nathaniel had never seen in the young man’s face since they had reunited. In an instant, the rogue understood what Nikolai was saying. “You’re scared for what we might find in the Circle, aren’t you?”

Nikolai nodded, eyes downcast.

“Don’t be,” Nathaniel reassured. “You did what you thought best. You saved the mages, you liberated them from their captors and you changed their lives.”

After a few moments of silence, Nikolai asked, “Have you ever met a mage, Nathaniel?”

“No,” the rogue admitted. “But I imagine they are people with ten fingers and ten toes just like the rest of us.”

“People who, using those ten fingers, can kill without a moments notice. They are living, breathing weapons and I chose to let them continue living in a tower where demons had infiltrated every rank. What if I made the wrong choice? What if we arrive at Kinhold and find nothing but bodies?”

“The aftereffects of what happens in that tower are no more your fault then – then the Kings!” Nathaniel protested, hand on Nikolai’s shoulder. “It was out of your hands the moments you stepped out of the tower. Whatever happened, happened. No one will blame you for trying to –“

“ _I_ will blame me, Nate.” Nikolai shrugged off Nathaniel’s hand, stepping away from him. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pulling at the long strands as he paced. “ _I_ will have to live the rest of this life knowing that I condemned innocent men, women and children to death because I wanted to reverse centuries of hate.”

“You tried your best, that is all anyone –“

“Maybe my best isn’t good enough anymore,” Nikolai interrupted. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I will think on your words, Nathaniel. Thank you.”

* * *

Nathaniel heard the screams while his mind was still deep in the fade. The bone chilling screams from their fearless leader were enough to snap anyone from even the joyous of dreams. He snapped forward in his tent, heart beating fast in his chest whilst his breath came in short, controlled bursts. He reached under his makeshift pillow and retrieved a dagger; mentally hoping everything was all right.

He crouched, opening the gap of tent and peaking out. Like him, the soldiers asleep in tents and those on guard were roused from sleep and peaking from their spots at the large tent that belonged to Nikolai. Though the screams had ceased, the echoes vibrate through Nathaniel.

Standing, Nathaniel made his way out of the tent. Sleeping in full light armor had its advantages and being able to ready at a moments notice was one of them. He walked slowly and carefully to Nikolai's tent, motioning the concerned looking soldiers to retreat along the way. Nikolai would not appreciate his soldiers thinking of him as anything but a legend in a human's body.

He was the bloody Hero of Ferelden, for maker's sake, and not just some commoner with a title. He had made a point early on that, in order to maintain a distance between himself and the legend he had become, he acted with great arrogance, putting on a show in front of his troops. Nathaniel did not understand it but he respected Nikolai enough to know the man knew what he was doing.

As he approached the tent, he tried to make some kind of sound to alert the man that he was approaching. When no noise was heard in response, Nathaniel shook his head and decided a good yelling was better than silence. He pulled back the flap and looked into the tent.

“Nathaniel, what are you doing in here?” Nikolai mumbled as he stood up in his bedroll.

“I – um, I couldn’t sleep,” Nathaniel replied, unsure on how to approach the subject. “I heard you, um, mumbling and I thought you were –“

“I was screaming again, wasn’t I?”

 “Well, yes. Are you alright?” Nathaniel waiting as Nikolai yawned and then sat up in his bedroll. He looked horrible, the lines around his young eyes suddenly looked very pronounced. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"If we must," Nikolai said motioning for Nathaniel to move away. He pushed his way out of his tent, stretching his long muscular limbs as he stood. Never one for prologues, he dove right into it. “There was so much blood, blood everywhere. Their eyes wide open, staring at me lifeless as they lay on the floor. Blood everywhere… never-ending. We walked those halls slowly, trying not to step on the bodies on the floor. There were so many of them, maker.”

“Perhaps a sleeping drought will help with the nightmares,” Nathaniel suggested as they sat in front of the camp fire. “We will be at the tower soon and you can see for yourself what good you did.”

“Or how bad I fucked up?”

“If nothing else, it will put your mind at ease.” Nathaniel reached into his satchel and pulled out a piece of paper he had been crying around with him. Carefully, he managed to get a piece of coal from the fire infant of them and then handed it to Nikolai. “Here.”

“What is this for?”

“For writing.”

“Yes, I know that,” Nikolai said with an eyebrow arched in confusion. “Why do I have… who am I writing to?”

“When I was send to the Free Marches as a young man, I would wake up with terrible dreams. I would wake up with such images in my mind; emotions and thoughts crossed my mind with speed. And I found that writing these things down, even if they didn’t make sense at the time, helped to ease my mind.” Nathaniel stood, patting Nikolai on the back for reassurance. “Perhaps, you might try it tonight. It may ease your thoughts as well.”

Nikolai looked down to the paper and quill in his hands. It might be a good idea, he thought, why the hell not? It’s not like he had anything to loose. He’d already cried in front of his second-in-command, what were a few confessions written down going to do.

“I shall try it. I am, once again, in your debt, Nathaniel. Thank you.”

“You owe me no debts, commander. I am merely helping a friend in need, is all. I do hope it helps.” 

* * *

They walked in silence the next morning, their destination close. Nikolai walked a little to the left of Nathaniel who continued to lead them down the correct path. He thoughts of their talk last night, the vulnerability he had shown – the weakness he had allowed himself to display both to his second-in-command and their troupe.

When the archdemon still plagued Ferelden, he had a task, a clear-cut route with simple instruction for which to follow. All he had to do was gather support from factions, save Ferelden from the darkspawn and kill the archdemon. Easy. The nightmares hadn’t been so strong then. A few archdemon dreams bothered his sleep, yes, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Alistair had a bigger problem with them than he did, to be honest. Nikolai took the nightmares as a reminder of what they were up against and what would reap Ferelden should they fail. He took them in stride, using them to strengthen his resolve and strike back at the demons that plagued the nation.

These nightmares were different, however. Instead of seeing darkspawn and a fierce dragon, he saw young men and women laying in a pool of their own blood, their eyes lifeless and staring holes into him. He heard children screaming, their feet thumping on the floor as they ran from danger before a loud, wet splat took away the sounds. He saw himself at the helm, his weapon drawn on these innocent people, his face warped in a way that seemed more animal than human. He saw their blood dripping off his sword, his metal boots stepping over their dead bodies.

He reached down for one of them, a young boy trying to push himself across the blood soaked floor, and pulled his head back revealing his neck. He brought the sword down and –

“Commander, are you alright?”

Nikolai snapped out of it, blinking away the images that had taken over his mind. He looked around at the concerned faces of his soldiers, smiling at them thinly as he tried to come up with an excuse. Nathaniel saved him from that by barking out an order, disbanding the small mob that had formed around them.

They continued to march only this time Nathaniel remained at his side and made small talk. It didn't take long before Nikolai was back to himself.

“Is King Alistair going to make a surprise inspection any time soon?” Nathaniel asked, pushing Nikolai with his shoulder slightly. Nikolai pushed back, a smile on his lips. When he didn’t reply, Nathaniel continued, “Last time he came, if I remember correctly, you two spent the entire time in your quarters. Reports, you said, taking care of some things. Personal things, the king added.”

“What are you, my biographer?” Nikolai chuckled. “We had important things to settle.”

“It wasn’t fun, let me tell you.”

“What wasn’t fun?”

Nathaniel shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “You two were very loud, commander. It’s a wonder you got anything done in that small, cramped space.”

“And just what are you implying, ser rogue?”

Nathaniel feigned ignorance, a small quirk of his lips was his only give away. “I am saying nothing, commander, just pointing out that –“

They both stopped in their tracks as the nauseous feeling overtook their senses. Nikolai knew this feeling all too well. They shared a look, halting their march and scouting the immediate area. They saw no darkspawn, although the trees and bushes provided enough cover to hide them.

Nikolai and Nathaniel shared a look, silently splitting up their caravan into groups and each taking a side. Nathaniel headed left through some heavy foliage while Nikolai took the right scouting through thick trees. They spread about, eyes on the lookout for their enemy yet finding none. But they felt the sickness, the deep sick feeling in the pit of their stomachs like acid being pushed up their throats. They knew what it meant: darkspawn.

But where were they?


End file.
